


Pieces of You

by prototyping



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Prompt Fic, he's feral and he's angry and that's about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prototyping/pseuds/prototyping
Summary: His paranoia is nothing new after the last few weeks, but the accusation stings all the same. Byleth feels herself frown. “Since when have I needed to resort to tricks to kill someone? Or did you always think so little of me?”[Written for day 7 of DimitriWeek2020, free day.]
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	Pieces of You

“I’m not hurt.”

Byleth makes note of the gruff comment, inwardly relieved, but doesn’t pause on her way to crouch down in front of Dimitri. She meets his piercing gaze without flinching.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Disdain ripples over his blood-splattered face as he sneers. It’s a clear refusal, but Byleth only inches closer on her knees. When she raises a hand, he jerks his head back as if he’s been slapped.

_“Don’t.”_ He bristles, teeth bared. Even those are stained red. Whether it’s his own blood or the rumors of his depraved ferocity are true, Byleth doesn’t know. She doesn’t let herself linger on the thought for long.

“Then you do it.” She drops her damp towel in his lap. “I’m taking us around the hills to the east. There won’t be any bodies of water for a while, so I don’t need you getting tracked by scent before then.” He goes off on his own so often, who knows how far away from the main camp, that she doesn’t want to risk it. He’s coated in scarlet, from his hairline down to the seams in his armor, and the smell is already unpleasantly potent.

“I’ve survived this long without your meddling,” he growls, but he grasps the towel in his fist. That’s probably as much as Byleth can hope for.

She glances him over studiously with a frown. This close, it's easy to see how matted his hair has become—if not with this fresh coat of blood, then with any of the number of those before now. “Your hair’s getting long,” she points out. “It will be easier to clean if you trim it some.” She draws her dagger from her belt in a casual motion. “What if I—”

She barely sees him move. When his large hand closes around her wrist, gripping hard enough to strike her fingers numb, her instincts scream in panic—but even when he throws her to the ground, Byleth doesn’t retaliate. It’s hardly a conscious decision; even now, she hasn’t rewired her reflexes to be on guard around him. She hasn’t managed to convince herself that she needs to.

There’s a wild hostility in his eye as he leans over her, panting hard between his teeth. It takes Byleth a moment to move past the unfamiliar expression— _fear,_ she realizes—and notice the subtle tremble in his fingers. He’s pinned her arm across her chest, the blade of her dagger hovering just shy of her throat. His knuckles dig into her breastbone hard enough to sting.

Even then, Byleth remains calm, her look of surprise quickly returning to neutrality as she catches on.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Dimitri. I just want to help.”

His face darkens. The flicker of fear is replaced with scorn and she can already tell he isn’t thinking straight. “I don’t recall you being so overbearing, _Professor._ ”

Her bones creak, but her arm’s too numb to determine whether his hold on it is tightening.

“One might think you’re looking for an excuse to get close to me.” His narrowed gaze drags down her face, her throat, to settle on her blade. His lips curl into what could be a snarl or a savage grin. The dried blood on his face makes the expression appear even more unhinged. “How simple it would be for you to open my throat, if only you could convince me to lower my guard.”

His paranoia is nothing new after the last few weeks, but the accusation stings all the same. Byleth feels herself frown. “Since when have I needed to resort to tricks to kill someone? Or did you always think so little of me?”

“ _People change_ ,” Dimitri barks. His eerie expression fades to another scowl. “Five years,” he muses, voice dropping to a bitter chill. “How convenient for you to show up _just_ as everyone needs you… to be welcomed back with open arms at nothing but your word.” He leans in closer, pressing her harder into the earth. Breathing is uncomfortable. “How _generous_ of you to pledge your life to this cause. How _strange_ that word of our journey to Ailell spread so quickly.”

Now, Byleth does want to lash out. Not in self-defense, but petty irritation—and if a slap to the face was all it took to knock Dimitri back to his senses, she would give into the impulse in a heartbeat.

But it’s more complicated than that. Pushing back is what he wants—a reaction, a reason to push her further away—but not what he needs.

“If I’m a traitor,” she replies coolly, almost coldly, “it’s stranger still that I haven’t found a better way to plunge a knife into your back before now. During battle, or when you slink off afterwards to tend to the wounds you hide.” Ignoring his glare, she glances down what she can see of his body. “You’ve avoided putting too much weight on your left leg since yesterday. Have you seen a healer?”

Dimitri regards her skeptically for several beats. She can’t be sure, but the flicker of _something_ there for an instant… maybe it’s his paranoia loosening its hold slightly, or it’s recognition of why she was so adamant on keeping pace with him and covering his left side in the last two battles.

Or maybe it’s simply his mind flitting from one uncertainty to the next again, his mood shifting as suddenly as it’s been prone to doing lately.

He makes a noise deep in his throat, nostrils flaring.

“We’re beyond sentiments like _trust_ , Professor.” He releases her roughly and stands, glaring down at her like a storm cloud. “You would do best to remember that. Don’t approach me again.”

He steps away from her—putting himself out of her reach, she notices, before he moves around her to go on his way.

Byleth sits up slowly and sheathes her dagger.

_Don’t approach me again._

He was so quick to react at the sight of her drawing her weapon.

She sighs softly once he’s out of earshot. She can’t bring herself to feel defensive around him, as though he’s someone to be feared, but five years of surviving, running, and fighting have clearly done as much to his perception of others.

She doesn’t believe everything he says these days, but she suspects his denouncement of trust was honest. His doubts and suspicions might not be born of paranoia, after all, at least not completely, but of something deeper than that—fear, despair, emotions so primal that they’re etched into his body just as deeply as his mind. She wonders if he even attacked her intentionally or whether he did so purely on reflex.

She reconsiders his last remark, uncertain whether it was a command or a warning.

Byleth stands. The ache in her wrist is already fading, but the weight of anxiety and guilt in her chest is heavier than ever.


End file.
